Doorsteps
by wolfern
Summary: Twice, Alex appears on Tom's doorstep. He looks different. Written for the December SpyFest fic exchange, 2018


**Doorsteps**

 **AN: For the SpyFest fic exchange, December 2018 (yes I know it's late, but this fic was passed to me on NYE).  
**

 **Prompt: Tom knew what Alex did for MI6, but never dreamed that it might lead to Alex showing up at his front door looking like this.  
There were two ways I thought I could respond to this prompt, and I couldn't decide which one to do, so here's both :) ****I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Story 1**

Tom knew what Alex did for MI6, but never dreamed that it might lead to Alex showing up at his front door looking like this. There was something about the careful placement of injuries, of calm and deliberate harm, that choked the friendly greeting in his throat.

In any other circumstance, he would have complimented the neat handwriting.

Alex let him stare for a bit, before asking if he could come inside.

"Yes… Yes, of course," Tom bustled Alex inside, setting him up on the giant squishy armchair in the corner he generally reserved for Alex. As his friend settled in, he went to the kitchen to make tea for the both of them. Tea would help.

As the water boiled, he squeezed his fists and then let them relax, trying not to break anything. He moved automatically, putting the teabags into the mismatched mugs from Alex's travels, and pouring over the water. He very much did _not_ think about someone pouring boiling water over Alex, his skin turning red and sloughing off.

After adding milk for Alex and sugar for himself, he brought the mugs out.

With the rain a steady lullaby, his best friend had fallen asleep curled up in his chair. Quietly, Tom set the mugs on the coffee table.

"Alex, wake up just for a bit, please."

His friend groaned and shivered.

" _Please_. Just to check you over, then you can go back to sleep."

He hated having to disturb Alex, but it had to be done. When Alex didn't respond, Tom reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

Brown eyes snapped open with an aborted uppercut to Tom's neck. Something in Tom died a little, seeing the terror in his friend's eyes. Alex relaxed, though, and let Tom remove his wet clothes and look him over.

There was little of his skin not covered in bruises or abrasions. What little was unmarred was too pale for summer. And the worst parts… Alex must have come straight from the hospital. He didn't trust public places any more, even those used for Government personnel like St Dominic's. It was partly that reason that Tom had decided to study nursing.

Luckily, the wounds had been dressed at the hospital, leaving just time to be the final medicine. If Alex needed any medications, he had a stash at Tom's for times like these.

Tom wished such times weren't so frequent.

His survey complete, he let Alex go back to sleep, and settled himself on the sofa beside.

* * *

Later that night, Tom awoke to someone walking about the house. It wasn't a sound that woke him – Alex was much too quiet for that – it was merely the sense he had for his friend. He sat up and looked around.

"Tom. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You should know it's fine." He spoke to the darkness. "How long are you staying?"

"I don't know. How long can I stay here?"

That was different. "As long as you need to."

The darkness was silent, save for sirens wailing in the distance and cars rushing by on the wet streets.

"Alex –"

"Are you hungry? I can make us some dinner." The fridge opened, silhouetting his friend, who rummaged around.

Tom half rose from his seat. "That's alright, you don't have to –"

"I'd like to."

He could hear the firmness in his friend's voice. It was the same firmness Alex had used when he told Tom's bullies that they simply weren't going to pick on Tom anymore, because he was Alex's friend. The sound of vegetables being chopped made him wince.

Stretching his arms out, Tom stood and went over to the kitchen. It was lit partly from the streetlights outside, and he went to turn on the light switch.

"Please don't."

The knife had stilled. As the moments ticked on and Tom stood frozen, it slowly resumed its chopping. Tom continued to stand by the lights as Alex finished his chopping and lit the stove. The flames illuminated his bandaged hands erratically, sometimes emphasising the swelling, sometimes hiding it in shadows. With movements like an arthritic old man, Alex went about making dinner as Ian had taught him.

Tom had memories of watching Alex try to teach Jack to cook, of playing along and failing spectacularly. He'd learnt, since then – had to, living in his own apartment. The rent wasn't cheap, but his parents were more than willing to pay for it in hopes that it would make up for their years of fighting. Besides, he needed an empty apartment so Alex could come over and not be hounded by roommates.

Silently, he moved to Alex's side and helped him make dinner. He didn't comment on how everything took Alex much longer than it used to, that his hands shook, or when he dropped things. He just stepped in where he could, and picked it up.

Because that was what he did.

* * *

 **Story 2**

Tom knew what Alex did for MI6, but never dreamed that it might lead to Alex showing up at his front door looking like this. He wasn't known for his self-control, so really, it wasn't _his_ fault that he'd burst out laughing, to Alex's obvious discomfort.

"…Alex?" he finally had to ask, since he really couldn't be sure.

"What do you think?" was the disgruntled reply. "Are you going to let me in, or not?"

Alex had to let himself in, since Tom was too busy bent over double again, hysterical. Eventually, without the sight of Alex there to set him off again, he was able to recover and join Alex inside.

His friend had set himself up as per usual in Tom's giant squishy armchair, but the incongruity set Tom off afresh. "I'll – I'll go make some tea," he said desperately. "You stay put."

A grunt was the only reply he received.

As Tom went about boiling the water and grabbing mugs and teabags, he had to stop his hands from shaking with laughter. It was fully impossible to wipe the grin from his face, but at least he was able to move somewhat normally.

When the tea was done, he took the mugs and, taking a deep breath in and out to steel himself again, he brought them out to the coffee table.

Alex still hadn't changed. As if everything were completely normal, he reached out for his mug, taking a big sip. Tom watched in fascination, lips twitching.

"Are you going to drink your tea, or stare at me all day?"

Tom tried to look away, but it was like his mind couldn't forget the image, and kept bringing his eyes back to make sure it wasn't a surreal dream. He cleared his throat to choke the giggle that threatened. "When – when are you going to change back?"

His best friend paused, looking out the window, where the streetlight lit up the rain in a fuzzy golden halo. "Maybe later. I'm a bit too tired to do anything right now."

That was strange, because he knew how much Alex liked to change back after missions, as if removing his disguise meant he was no longer Agent Rider working for MI6, but just Alex who sometimes lived with Tom.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

It was only years of knowing Alex that allowed Tom to spot the twitch of Alex's lips, the twinkle in his eyes. It was a testament to Alex's skills as a spy that it had taken Tom so long to notice.

"You… You're doing this _on purpose_! To torment me!"

Alex burst out laughing, and had to put his mug down before he spilled the tea. "Well, if I had to suffer this indignity, then I thought someone else had to suffer too. And you were _staring_ so you brought it on yourself."

Careful not to exacerbate any injuries, because Tom knew Alex too well, Tom punched his best friend. "Fuck off," he said. "See if I let you visit me anymore."

Alex stretched out his legs and finally stood up to go take a shower and change back. "You know you can't stop me," he said, smug grin crinkling around his eyes and wrinkling the latex prosthetics around his face. Not that it made much difference to the already-wrinkled visage that adorned him. He bid Tom adieu with a wave of his hand, weighed down by rings and giant gemstones.

Tom couldn't help but smile back with a fresh wave of laughter. "Hold on, hold on," he struggled out of the sofa. "You've _got_ to let me take a photo. I can tell everyone it's my rich gran who's secretly a French princess who escaped during the revolution."

Now it was Alex's turn to laugh. " _Mais oui_ , _mon ami_!"

* * *

 **AN: Many, many thanks to Op-fan98 for the advice :)**


End file.
